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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27108256">hold me tight</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/kindlystrawberry/pseuds/kindlystrawberry'>kindlystrawberry</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>the gentleness that comes [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Rune Factory 4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Banter, Established Relationship, Explicit Language, Fluff and Humor, Hijinks &amp; Shenanigans, M/M, POV Multiple, Short One Shot, Singing, listen its just soft and theyre very cuddly bc i say so</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 16:28:33</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,268</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27108256</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/kindlystrawberry/pseuds/kindlystrawberry</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>And that’s when Doug sees it.<br/>Dylas. Singing.<br/>When Doug realizes what’s happening, it takes every ounce of willpower in his body that he can physically muster (and even some that he can’t) to not make a sound that would shatter this moment.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Doug/Dylas (Rune Factory)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>the gentleness that comes [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1944520</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>hold me tight</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>Doug is actually going to scream. </p><p>Like, no, genuinely. He would, the scene before him is so bewildering and out-of-fucking-nowhere that he absolutely feels the urge to, but the one thing that’s holding him back is that letting out said scream in the middle of an otherwise empty restaurant at night would, in fact, break the moment that’s in front of him, and that’s something he <em> definitely </em>doesn’t want to do, for as weird as it is. </p><p>For one, it’s past closing hours. When Doug had offered to help give some cultural pointers to Arthur as he prepared a trade deal with a dwarven clan he hadn’t actually expected to work so late. Not that he minds, entirely, since honestly the time got away from both of them (is this what happens to Arthur all the time? Is this what it’s like to be a workaholic? Doug says no thank you to that), but he hadn’t expected Arthur to point out that it was nearly 10 PM. </p><p>Doug doesn’t know how the prince does it, staying cooped up in an office all day. Sure, Doug spends a lot of time indoors working at the store, but even then he makes a point to step out and stretch pretty often. </p><p>He doesn’t know the specific clan’s traditions, of course, but Arthur had made a point to say that even general advice was helpful. Only needing to look at one more thing, he had followed Arthur back to the man’s office, since they had gone out an hour earlier to sit on one of the benches in Melody Street and get some fresh air while looking over some documents. Doug hadn’t thought much of seeing Porcoline on the way back, hanging by the observatory and talking to some tourists. That was pretty normal behavior. </p><p>What he realizes belatedly is that this all means the restaurant is empty. It’s just him, and Arthur, and…</p><p>“Thank you again for your help, Doug,” Arthur had said with a smile that was tired, yes, but not nearly as much as it should have been, all things considered.</p><p>Faced with open appreciation, Doug had found himself scratching at his neck awkwardly. “Uh yeah, no problem. Let me know if you—”</p><p>That’s when he had heard it. <em> It. </em></p><p>He realized that what he had subconsciously dismissed as background noise was more than that, actually. He and Arthur had shared one slightly startled look. Then, of course, the blonde’s expression broke into a small, knowing smile, the kind that served only to confuse Doug more. Arthur made a motion to the door of his office that connects to the restaurant as if to say <em> ‘go check it out,’ </em>and then promptly went back to his work.</p><p>Doug had weighed his options. Deciding no, he was going to do this properly, he had summoned all of the sneak-itude he could physically muster and crawled up the steps towards the second floor. If Arthur cared or noticed in any way, he had made no indication of showing it. </p><p>Then, begging his shoes not to squeak just this <em> one </em>time, and internally promising to actually take them into a repair shop after this if they complied, he had gone through the hallway and down the other set of stairs, so that he could get into the restaurant without having to risk any doors making noise.</p><p>And that’s when he sees it. This.</p><p>Dylas, mopping the floor, facing the entrance to the restaurant. Dylas with a soft slope of his shoulders and relaxed sway in limbs, swinging his tail at a tempo just awkwardly out of sync with the sweeping motion of his mop. Dylas, <em> singing </em>as he does this. </p><p>Dylas. Singing.</p><p>When he realizes what’s happening, it takes every ounce of willpower in Doug’s body that he can physically muster (and even some that he can’t) to not make a sound that would shatter this moment.</p><p><em> “Not reckless of promise, the rings he dealt,” </em>Dylas sings. His voice is, unsurprisingly, low-pitched, the words coming out at a mellow hum.</p><p>
  <em> “Treasure at banquet: there towered the hall,” </em>
</p><p>Dylas, who most definitely thinks he’s entirely alone right now, is singing just to himself, looking like he’s doing so almost absently. Doug has to strain to hear. Still, he doesn’t dare to walk down the last few steps, terrified that he’ll lose whatever thing (no matter how fucking confusing) is currently happening.</p><p>
  <em> “High, gabled wide, the hot surge waiting of furious flame,” </em>
</p><p>Damn. Is he actually a good singer? Doug isn’t particularly musically inclined, so he feels like he can’t put much weight behind his own opinion, but Dylas’ voice is a pleasant melody in the dark, quiet space of the restaurant. If Doug strains to remember any of the musical knowledge he had picked up from his clan’s traditions, he can vaguely say that Dylas’ tempo sounds slightly off, but somehow any small imperfection just makes the moment feel more real. This isn’t him trying, or performing, but just a private, genuine moment to himself. One that Doug is breaking. Right. </p><p>
  <em> “Nor far was that day when father and son-in-law stood in feud,” </em>
</p><p>It’s fitting, actually, with the lights of the restaurant off and the moonlight filtering through the window, catching in Dylas’ long hair so it looks like a halo of light cascading down his shoulders— he almost looks like a spirit haunting the restaurant, doomed to eternal mop-duty, as his somber, calm singing continues.</p><p>“<em> For warfare and hatred that woke again,” </em></p><p>What even is this song? Doug can’t recognize it. Doug can’t do much thinking at all right now, actually, since any ounce of willpower Doug has is either focusing on not moving a hair or on desperately paying attention to the sound of his husband’s voice.</p><p>Dylas can sing. Dylas can sing <em> well. </em> Sure, not enough to give Meg a run for her money or anything, but <em> much </em>better than Doug had ever thought. </p><p>To be fair, Doug actually hadn’t ever really thought about Dylas and singing together, but that’s in large part because of how absolutely and entirely the man (Dylas, <em> his husband, </em> who apparently <em> can sing), </em>is against any and all acts of public creativity. He’s managed to dance with Dylas two entire times in his life— once at Frey’s wedding, when a drinking competition later turned into an atrocity of a dancing competition (which Doug honestly wants to forget), and the second time after Porcoline had apparently spent a month giving Dylas dance lessons in preparation for their own wedding (nevermind the fact that Granny did the same for Doug). </p><p>But singing? </p><p>
  <em> “Endured the dole in his dark abode, that he heard each day the din of revel high in the hall,” </em>
</p><p>Doug had been, until this moment, entirely convinced that Dylas was more likely to grow a second head under one of his armpits, sprout wings, and turn out to be some magical spirit that would grant everyone in town a sparkle-filled wish than to ever… ever what? Sing <em> at all?  </em></p><p>Yeah.</p><p>
  <em> “There harps rang out, clear song of the singer,” </em>
</p><p>But no, the damn talented bastard is <em> good </em>at singing. Mostly. He’s swaying his hips so almost-imperceptibly that Doug can only notice it because he knows how to read the man so damn well, and right now all he reads is that Dylas looks relaxed. </p><p>Dragging himself out of his own bewildered thoughts, Doug decides to just take the moment to really just process it, to let the unfamiliar song carry quietly but pleasantly across the room and to hear the low, even tone of Dylas’ singing voice.</p><p>
  <em> “He sang who knew tales of the early time of man…” </em>
</p><p>Doug can’t see Dylas’ expression because of where the man is facing, but maybe that’s a good thing, because Doug realizes that he’s blushing so hard he might as well plant himself in Frey’s field and call himself a tomato, and that’s <em> only </em>from watching Dylas from behind. </p><p>If he had to see Dylas’ lips carve out the words, or the way his eyes are probably downcast at his feet as he sings, a concentrated but peaceful look on his face, Doug would… probably have to check himself into the clinic for heart issues.</p><p>Maybe he’s still going to need to, after tonight.</p><p>Doug is still dealing with trying to ram into his head that this is, in fact, a thing that’s happening and not, in fact, some kind of alternate reality he’s walked himself into. He’s dealing with this so much that he doesn’t even realize until now that Dylas had actually stopped singing a bit ago and switched to just wordless humming. </p><p>He also doesn’t realize that Dylas is turning around to mop at another part of the floor until the man, his husband, love of his life who is absolutely going to <em> murder </em>him right now, makes eye contact with Doug. </p><p>Doug freezes.</p><p>Dylas freezes.</p><p>Rather than instant mortification Dylas <em> actually </em> looks like he’s frozen, like he hasn’t processed what just happened. Doug tries to open his mouth, but no words come out. <em> Then </em> the mortification comes, quickly and all at once, Dylas’ entire face turning so red so fast that he has to stumble back and lean against the broom for support. He brings up one hand to cover his face but that doesn’t do much of anything, since even his <em> hand </em> seems to be slightly pink (that might be the low lighting, or Doug’s state of semi-deliriousness, he’s not entirely sure) and because his fingers are spread wide they don’t even break eye contact.</p><p>“Oh— shit— sorry, I didn’t mean to, uh,” is the first thing Doug manages to say. Half-say. He’s actually not even aware he’s saying it until the words are stumbling out of his mouth, just like his feet are stumbling down another two steps of the stairs.</p><p>“I— what— <em> YOU—” </em>Dylas stammers out, with increasing volume. </p><p>Ah, right. There it is.</p><p>The situation suddenly catches up to Doug. He <em> feels </em>his face go from pink to crimson, and with a sudden bout of energy he’s skipping down the last few steps </p><p>“No, wait, you know what—” he’s pointing out his finger accusingly as he power walks towards Dylas, who doesn’t seem to expect this. Dylas stumbles back as Doug walks forward, until he’s trapped between a flustered dwarf and the front wall of the restaurant. </p><p>“Since <em> when,” </em>Doug continues, hands waving around as his voice raises in surprise, “can you sing!? No, seriously!? What even was that?”</p><p>“I, uh,” Dylas replies eloquently.</p><p>“That was <em> amazing! </em> What the <em> fuck? </em>”</p><p>Dylas’ eyes shoot open wide, and his face turns an even darker shade of red. Yeah, they’re probably going to have to go get Jones to check them out tomorrow, just to make sure this didn’t get any long-lasting blood pressure damage.</p><p>“I mean,” Doug presses on, feeling light-headed from the mix of emotions in him right now. Shock, embarrassment, awe, indignance. “Remember last year’s holiday party, when we were all singing to that song Margaret wrote, and you were just moving your lips quietly <em> pretending </em> to sing?” Dylas’ eyes go even wider. “Yeah, no, don’t think I didn’t notice that. And like, obviously that’s fine! You don’t have to sing, and I just thought to myself, <em> aw the poor guy’s so bad at singing that he won’t even do it in a crowd, that’s alright, I feel kind of bad for him, </em>but no! You’re a great singer! Like— I just— when did that happen?”</p><p><em> How have I not heard this before? </em>Is the unspoken question between them.</p><p>The sigh that leaves Dylas’ body also seems to be the last of his energy leaving him. He presses both his palms to his face, this time fully obscuring it from Doug, and leans back further against the wall for support.</p><p>A long moment of silence passes between them, and Doug finds himself shifting on his feet. Shit. Was that too much?</p><p>“Uh— I—” when Doug breaks the silence, Dylas wedges open two of his fingers just enough for Doug to see the yellow of one of his irises in the low light. Doug finds that he can’t actually make eye contact right now, though, so he stares at a potted plant next to them instead. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound so, uh, angry. I’m not angry!” He adds quickly, like that needs to be clarified. “Obviously. Like, I don’t care that you don’t like to sing, or that you do but not, like, in front of anyone? That’s your right to privacy. I’m just so surprised? Also because you’re not actually bad at it?”</p><p>Dylas— dramatic bastard that he is sometimes even if he refuses to admit it— takes his time dragging his hands over his eyelids and down his face. Doug takes the chance to appreciate how endearingly silly Dylas’ face looks for a moment when his hands stretch and pull the skin.</p><p>Then Dylas fixes him with a look, and then fixes the mop leaning on the chair next to Doug a look, and then speaks to the mop. </p><p>“I— I don’t know, I guess I just never really thought of it?”  </p><p>Doug’s about to point out all the times during holidays, festivals, and rowdy nights at the restaurant that people (Meg, Porcoline, and Leon, mostly) have tried and failed to get a <em> very </em>stubborn horse-man to sing. He fixes Dylas with a look and is about to open his mouth to say just that when Dylas buts in first, clearly reading his mind.</p><p>“Agh— I mean, I hate public displays of…” Dylas vaguely waves around his hand as if searching for the right word. “Well. Everything. Basically everything. You know that.”</p><p>Doug does know that.</p><p>Wait.</p><p>“Wait,” Doug leans forward slightly and speaks a lot more calmly now, if very suspiciously. Dylas looks nervous. “Have you… have you never sang in front of someone before? Like, ever?”</p><p>Dylas scratches his cheek, laughing out of nervousness more than humor. “Uh, yeah. I don’t actually sing much to begin with, anyway, so first time I’ve been caught, I guess.”</p><p>He always subconsciously forgets that Dylas basically lived alone, in his previous time. Probably because Dylas, as much as a grouch as he is, fits in so well with the people of Selphia. It’s hard to imagine him alone, barely interacting with the people of his old town except for Ventuswill. </p><p>“You… you know that you’re good, right?” </p><p>Dylas just keeps scratching his cheek, over the scar on his jaw.</p><p>“Like, really,” Doug emphasizes, leaning forward even more. “Your voice is deep, and nice, and soothing and shit.”</p><p>“Oh. Um. Th-thanks.” Dylas is awkwardly blinking down at Doug now, and Doug can’t tell if the blush he sees is from his embarrassment or their proximity. He likes to think it’s both.</p><p>“What was that song anyway?”</p><p>“Oh.” Dylas takes a minute, thinking on it. “I don’t remember. It was old even in my time— just something I picked up, I guess.”</p><p>Doug lets out a hum in agreement, and a very short silence stretches out between them. Then, before Doug even realizes a grin is spreading over his face he feels Dylas tense. Leaning one arm against the wall Doug presses forward still, keeping his face just far away enough that he can still look up at his husband.</p><p>“So,” he says. “Does this mean you’re going to sing me to sleep from now on?”</p><p>Dylas lets out a startled choking noise that’s somewhere between a laugh and a groan. <em> “Absolutely not.” </em></p><p>“Aww, boo. Then what if I tell Meg she’s got a new duet partner?”</p><p>The look on Dylas’ face— like he’s a startled deer who just got put on a buffet table facing hundreds of hungry people— has Doug breaking out into loud, shoulder-shaking laughter.</p><p><em> “No, </em>no no no, Doug don’t you dare—”</p><p>“Ahaha, okay okay, don’t worry I promise,” Doug wheezes, and he’s still laughing so hard he has to lean back. </p><p>Dylas, who still looks like if he doesn’t stop Doug right now his worst nightmares might come true, grabs him by the arm and tries to pull him back in like he’s preventing an escape. Both of them apparently forget that Dylas had been <em> mopping, </em>though so when Dylas tries to pull him forward the dwarf’s feet over correct, making him suddenly lose balance.</p><p>With a couple startled noises from both of them Doug tries to catch himself but fails, sending him landing against Dylas’ chest with an <em> oof. </em>Dylas lets out a similar noise as he’s pressed back against the wall.</p><p>Apparently Dylas had tried to catch Doug too, sort of, and his own feet had slipped as they tried to brace against the wet floor. Doug realizes this because Dylas’ face is suddenly much closer than their normal height difference would allow.</p><p>Doug can’t help tracing the lines of Dylas’ throat with his eyes as his husband swallows. He’s about to bite his lip, but to his own surprise Dylas is the one that leans forward to kiss him. Any other mischievous thought Doug has slips away as he braces one hand against Dylas’ chest and uses the other to keep himself semi-steady on the wall, the way Dylas’ lips slanting against his rendering all of Doug’s thinking capabilities null. </p><p>Well, almost all of them.</p><p>After a minute of slow, meaningful kisses they suddenly get a lot lighter, a lot more playful, and both of them are fighting off laughter.</p><p>“Are you—” Doug says, in between bouts of chuckling and kissing, “trying to bribe me with a kiss? So I won’t share your secret?”</p><p>They both know Doug would never actually share something that Dylas considers a secret, which lets Dylas just tease right back, even if his voice is gruff.</p><p>“‘S not a secret.”</p><p>“Is it something you’d tell people?”</p><p>“No.”<br/>
“It’s a secre—” </p><p>Dylas cuts Doug off with a deeper kiss, like he could swallow up the sound of Doug’s chuckling. He can feel Dylas smiling regardless, though. </p><p>Wanting to try and gain control of the kiss Doug moves forward, but for the <em> second </em>time that night he seems to forget the floor is, in fact, very wet, and this time neither of them is prepared enough. The precarious way both of them had been balancing against the floor, the wall, and each other falls through, until gravity sends them toppling onto each other in a heap of limbs.</p><p>Everyone, <em> of course, </em> seems to decide that moment is when they want to come back to the restaurant, because apparently whatever cosmic force is in charge of karma has it out for Doug, specifically. Or maybe Dylas. </p><p>Damn, he really married into bad luck.</p><p>Porcoline’s the first one to saunter in, turning on the lights with what Doug only assumes is a flourish.</p><p><em> “Excusez moi, </em>everyone, I am ho— Oh, oh my!” </p><p>He stops walking the moment he spots the two men tangled on the floor. </p><p>From his vantage point Doug can just see Meg barely stop herself from crashing into Porcoline.</p><p>“Porco, what are you— oh!”</p><p>“Is everyone—” Arthur comes next, because apparently Doug will never be spared anything. “Okay?” he finishes slowly, like he’s processing the scene. “Ah. Forgive me if I’ve interrupted—”</p><p>“Y-you’re not interrupting anything!” Dylas exclaims, using a burst of energy to stumble into a standing position. “Wh-why are you even here?”</p><p>“I heard a commotion,” Arthur says.</p><p>“I left some sheet music that I was working on,” adds Margaret.</p><p>“And I live here!” finishes Porcoline.</p><p>Dylas shoots Doug a <em> help me </em>kind of look, which Doug of course can’t ignore.</p><p>He gets up, absently brushing off his shorts, and with an awkward laugh says, “Uh— yeah, when I heard Dylas in here earlier it turns out he was just mopping. Seemed like he had a lot left, so I tried to help, and then we, uh. Tripped. You know how clumsy he is, with those long-ass legs of his.”</p><p>He feels Dylas about to protest at the jab, so Doug cuts him off with a discreet (he hopes) elbow into his side. Dylas lets out a light <em> oof </em>before catching on.</p><p>“O-oh y-yeah. Um. He was. Helping out.”</p><p><em> Smooth, </em>Doug thinks, though he’s sure his own delivery wasn’t much better, if the warmth spreading over his cheeks is anything to go by. </p><p>“Why Doug! You should have let <em> moi </em>know if you wanted a job at the restaurant.”</p><p>“Oh, uh, yeah no thanks— this was more of a ‘help my spouse’ sort of thing than a… job recruitment. Thing.”</p><p><em> Smooooth, </em>Doug’s incredibly helpful internal dialogue repeats. </p><p>Any further internal self-deprecation is cut off by the sound of loud sniffling. All heads in the room turn to Porcoline, who’s somehow procured a ridiculously fancy handkerchief from somewhere. </p><p>He’s dabbing at his eyes as he says, “Oh, Dylas! I didn’t know I was keeping you from your husband! You’re banned from working the dinner shift now.”</p><p>“Wha—” Dylas tries to interject.</p><p>“Ah, wait! Do you also want to have breakfast with Doug? You have to treasure your spouse, you know, some breakfast in bed wouldn’t hurt—”</p><p>Doug lets out a loud snort despite himself, and he swears he can <em> feel </em>Dylas’ face go up in flames next to him. Meg and Arthur are clearly trying to hold back laughter too.</p><p>“Wh— I—”</p><p>“So no morning shifts either. Oh— and Doug, dear, remind me again which days you work? I imagine you’d like to coordinate your lunch break with Dylas, so he won’t work then either—”</p><p>“Now— just— hold on a minute!” Dylas says, somewhere halfway between mortification (for the second time, tonight, poor guy) and indignation. He cringes slightly when all eyes turn to him, as if he hadn’t fully expected the reaction to his outburst. Doug watches again as Dylas swallows tightly, and then declares, “first of all, I t-treasure my spouse.”</p><p>Doug hears a soft <em> ‘oh my,’ </em>come from someone but he’s not sure who because Dylas continues straight on.</p><p>“S-second of all, I don’t need all those days off! Today I just dragged my feet closing up and took too long, I guess.” Everyone stares at him quietly.  “I— agh. Like. Working. Here.” Each word gets progressively softer and progressively more directed at his own shoes.</p><p>Once again the silence is broken by Porcoline’s sniffling, though this time it’s the only indication before he throws himself at Dylas in a hug. </p><p>“Oh, I’m sorry! Forget I ever said anything. Work here with me forever!”</p><p>Clearly either the floor has dried enough or karma really is against Doug specifically, because no one slips this time. Dylas awkwardly pats Porco’s shoulder as the chef holds Dylas close, but Doug can read his husband well enough to know that Dylas genuinely enjoys this hug, even if he’s still self-conscious. </p><p><em> “Aw,” </em> Margaret says, her expression a mix of secondhand embarrassment and genuine fondness. She moves in to join the hug, squeezing herself underneath one of Dylas’ long arms. “You guys. That was both very cheesy, and very sweet. I feel like I was reading a romance novel.” </p><p>From his spot Doug can’t see the looks Margaret and Porcoline shoot over at Arthur (he <em> can </em> however picture what Dylas’ look probably is, as something between begrudging fondness and <em> I’m sorry, dude) </em>, but clearly it’s enough to get the prince to roll his eyes lovingly and cross the room, joining the hug.</p><p>Doug vaguely feels like he’s fifth-wheeling the moment, but more than that he feels genuinely happy. Years ago (or maybe even more recently) he probably would have cringed at the show of affection and deep, deep down felt jealousy or resentment, but now he only smiles as he sees all the love between the somewhat eclectic group of people who have found a small, real family in each other. </p><p>He’s shaken out of his thoughts with a start when he feels a vice grip (holy shit, is that Porcoline?) around his wrist, second before he’s pulled into the tangle of bodies.</p><p>“Oh, you too Doug dear!” Porcoline says, wrapping a free arm around a blushing Doug.</p><p>“Yeah, you married into this, you know!” He hears Meg say in a cheery but undoubtedly teasing tone. </p><p>“Yeah, yeah,” Doug says, with more annoyance than he feels, though that’s probably easy to ignore because of the obvious, sickeningly sweet fondness he can hear in his own voice.</p><p>Arthur doesn’t say anything but Doug can feel (from somewhere, he’s not even sure what entirely belongs to who right now) him chuckle warmly. Then he feels Dylas (he can at least recognize that since he’d know the feel of Dylas’ arm anywhere) pull him into the hug slightly tighter, and Doug thinks that maybe this is nice, actually. </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Porco ended up shooing out Doug and Dylas, claiming with the mop in one hand and an absolutely unbreakable amount of stubbornness that even if Dylas wasn’t getting banned from working any shifts, he was at least going to go home tonight with his husband. Dylas was honestly too tired to have argued with Porcoline, so off he went. Also, he knew better than to try at this point.</p><p>That’s how he finds himself now, utterly exhausted more from the events of the last 20 minutes than from his entire workday. If he has any energy at all to carry his feet over to Sincerity General, it comes from the steady, reassuring pressure of Doug’s hand holding his hand. </p><p>Doug, for his part, seems like he has way <em> too much </em> energy all things considered. The dwarf is lightly swinging their hands together and the grin on his face is bright enough that Dylas almost forgets it’s supposed to be night. </p><p>Doug’s been chatting away since the two of them went upstairs for Dylas to pack his things (he had meant to after closing up the restaurant, but had gotten, well, distracted), and hasn’t stopped since. </p><p>“Oh, and by the way,” Doug adds, as they cross down the steps towards Melody Street. “Do you know when that cobbler comes back into town? I sort of promised my shoes I’d get them fixed.”<br/>
“You…” Dylas repeats slowly, glancing down at Doug’s shoes as he briefly considers the possibility that his husband has actually lost it. “‘Promised’ your shoes?”</p><p>“Uh—” Doug looks away and blushes slightly, the moonlight rendering the color a soft pink along with his hair. His embarrassment just makes Dylas more confused. What? “Yeah, haha. That’s… sort of a long story.”</p><p>Dylas blinks down at Doug, and shifts the weight of the bag he’s holding over his other shoulder. When Doug makes no move to clarify any further, Dylas finds the energy to roll his eyes softly and mumble, “Weirdo.”</p><p>“Wha— hey!” </p><p>Doug’s unexpectedly indignant yell makes Dylas laugh, though maybe a bit too loudly considering what time it is. The sound just seems to make Doug’s face burn brighter, though, which fills Dylas’ chest with an unbearable amount of fondness. He thinks of how much he loves Doug. And then he thinks of what happened earlier that night, and of the urge he had to both strangle the love of his life and hide away in the Water Ruins forever.</p><p>Is it possible to have the best and worst luck in life at once? </p><p>Dylas thinks it might be. </p><p>After clearing his throat Doug seems to regain enough of his composure, because the next thing Dylas knows Doug is poking a finger into Dylas’ chest and looking up at him. </p><p>Gods, he looks beautiful in the moonlight.</p><p>“Hey, by the way, don’t think you’re getting out of what we talked about earlier. Seriously, am I gonna get to hear you sing more from now on?”</p><p>Gods, Dylas wants to kill him. </p><p>Or maybe dive into the lake and stay there for a few seasons. He hasn’t decided yet.</p><p>Dylas feels the blush crawl up his cheeks, but he doesn’t have the energy left in him to do more than grumble out a protest.</p><p>“What was that?” Doug asks, sounding way too cheeky. “Was that a ‘yes?’ A ‘yes dear, anything for you, my loving husband, I’ll serenade—”</p><p>“Alright, that’s enough for you.” Dylas cuts him off. </p><p>“Woah— hey—!”</p><p>Dylas moves the hand that had been holding Doug’s to instead wrap around his shoulders and pull him close against Dylas’ chest, effectively muffling the sound of his voice against the fabric of Dylas’ clothes. </p><p>They’re still walking as they do this, Doug squirming and laughing from where he’s smushed into Dylas’ side. Dylas can make out sounds of spirited protest but they’re muted, proving the point that this trick worked. </p><p>He can’t help the snort that comes out of him as Doug keeps on squirming, though, and soon their laughter mixes together, sounding loud and energetic in the night air. </p><p>Doug manages to free his arms enough to shove them into Dylas’ sides, trying to use this as leverage to push off the arm around his shoulders. Dylas can’t help but think back to the time when they were first friends— or rivals, or whatever either of them wanted to call it— and would often wrestle, kind of like this. The way Dylas would thrill at the feel of Doug against him. </p><p>(Back then he had told himself that was just the feeling of adrenaline and a fight).</p><p>Doug manages to free himself, and they both have to stop walking to catch their breath between their giggling.</p><p>“That,” Doug says, a bright grin tugging at one corner of his mouth, “was <em> rude.” </em></p><p>“It worked, though.”</p><p>Doug makes a show of stepping on one of Dylas’ shoes. </p><p>Dylas’ yelp is more out of surprise than any pain. “Hey! I thought you were going to get those fixed.” </p><p>“Yeah, well, I’m not going tonight, am I?”</p><p>“Maybe you should, I’ll sleep in your bed all by myself.”</p><p>“Then who are you going to sing a lullaby to?”</p><p>Dylas’ cheeks burn hotly, the sound of Doug’s laughter having given him a spur of energy. “I hate you,” he mutters, way too fondly.</p><p>“Aw, so no love songs for—” </p><p>Dylas drops his bag of overnight things to the floor to lunge at Doug again, who this time is prepared to fight him off with another laugh. Once more the two of them wrestle, just a bit, until the whole thing just turns into a wobbly hug, where Doug has his arms wrapped up around Dylas’ shoulders to pull his head down against the side of Doug’s neck. </p><p>The way the dwarf’s shoulders are shaking with mirth jostle Dylas’ head, but he finds that he doesn’t mind. </p><p>In a minute they’ll untangle themselves, and Dylas will go pick up the bag he discarded somewhere on the sidewalk; they’ll stumble into the shop and climb up stairs, careful not to wake up Blossom who’s probably asleep, and burrow themselves under Doug’s covers; Dylas will groan about how much he hates the warming weather, and Doug will probably make one last stupid joke about singing because he’s the one of the most stubborn people Dylas has <em> ever </em>met, and then Dylas will once again wonder what he did to be so lucky as to have three homes: the restaurant, the general store, and the space between Doug’s arms.</p><p>For now, though, he just wraps his arms a little bit tighter around Doug’s back, and takes this moment to relish the comforting feeling of his husband’s warmth lined up against him. </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Another thank you in this series to the amazing <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/radstarmuffin/pseuds/radstarmuffin">radstarmuffin</a> for beta-reading this fic and hyping me up about it when I was unsure if I wanted to share it. And once again I am linking <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26090500/chapters/63461575">their fic (seriously go read it)</a> because a. it is wonderful, b. it got me into this dylas/doug brainrot I'm currently in and c. it's hilarious to see the parts of this fic that were absolutely inspired by that fic (see: mop, hug). </p><p>Also! The "song" Dylas sings here is the poem Beowulf, <a href="https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/50114/beowulf-modern-english-translation">specifically this translation</a> because fun fact, a lot of old/classic poems like sonnets &amp; ballads would often be set to music when they were performed, back in the day.</p><p>And finally, I *do* have plans to continue this series with a longer fic about Doug &amp; Dylas as parents, I just thought of Dylas Singing and got so sidetracked that I *had* to write it down.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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